than nothing at all?
That’s what they say,
what they dare tell me.
My soul hemorrhaging,
filling my lungs with blood
and salt water.
But I breathe easy because she never could.
I drown in crimson.
Unending insomniac sunsets followed by
nights of sleepless intoxication and
the amnesiac sunrise.
The end of the beginning, is that what
it could it be?
What it could have been?
My bitter morphine, my sweet foaming oxycodone.
I found my cure,
oh, how they were wrong.
How much lovelier it is to feel nothing at all.
Oh, how much kinder it is to never remember.